


Hello, Goodnight

by redqueenequilibrium



Series: Worry is a Quiet Thing [2]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: M/M, Pre-Season/Series 11
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-26
Updated: 2016-01-26
Packaged: 2018-05-15 21:42:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5801299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redqueenequilibrium/pseuds/redqueenequilibrium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Locus arrives at Chorus a year after Felix has already landed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hello, Goodnight

Locus doesn’t call Felix as soon as their ship falls into orbit around the planet. He’d like to - to check on progress, status, how thing are for him - but he doesn’t.

The job comes first, specific tasks prioritized first by order: Protocol, preparation, final plans. Report to Control, double-check their inventory, go over the first steps of the plan with the other mercenaries for once they make planetfall: three things he was ordered to do first, as soon as they reach orbit. So he does.

After that comes ‘check on Felix’. He can afford to wait. They’re ahead of schedule, after all.

Locus doesn’t look too closely at the planet until after all of that is done - until he has time and space alone, in his quarters, and the window is there to show her in her splendor.

Chorus is a small colony planet, compared to the one they left. Non-assuming, but no less pristine in appearance, from orbit. At first glance, she has oceans, ice caps, desert, and swirls and swirls of white, misty clouds. She looks like an ordinary planet, if a little drab, a little grey; it’s easy to see how promising it appeared, when the UNSC still had the resources, the desire, to colonize new worlds far flung in space. That being said, Chorus doesn’t appear as a world special enough for the job they have planned. Yet here they are.

Somewhere on that planet, Felix is at work, making nice with an ill-equipped, demoralized rebel army. Fighting and planning and training and supplying, where he can, as he’s done the past many months, laying the groundwork to prime the war to suit their third party agenda.

If Felix has done things right, the New Republic of Chorus should no longer be so demoralized - perhaps, now, be on even ground, if not better even, tipped the war in their favour for a first time in a long, long time.

On the other hand, if he’s done things wrong - made a mistake, let something slip - since the last report he sent, recorded one month and too long ago, he could be dead.

Locus pushes those thoughts from his mind, runs his hand over the computer terminal as he turns away from the window, to fiddle with the communication application, and places the call.

The icon blinks, an archaic symbol of a phone, and a muted sound of a ringing tone buzzes softly as communication is attempted, between this terminal, on the orbiting ship, and Felix’s own communication device, somewhere on the planet below.

The silence is noticeable now, between each buzz of an unanswered ring. He didn’t expect Felix to answer quickly, not really. Rationally, he knows it’s unlikely Felix could answer the first call at all. Or the second, or the third. He could be doing anything down on the planet’s surface - could be on an operation, could be fighting, could be eating, could be asleep, could be in a crowded area, unable to answer. Still, with each passing second, Locus can’t help the rising sense of anxiety, creeping up moment by moment that Felix fails to answer.

If Felix isn’t in with the Republic anymore, for whatever unfortunate reason, it will change how the mission will be done.

It will change Locus’ position in regards to carrying it through.

Felix answers after the seventh muted ring.

The software comes to life with the received call, and the screen blinks brightens to show and broadcast to Locus, the image of the partner he hasn’t seen in person for one Earth year.

“Hey,” Felix answers - offhand, casual, a subdued greeting - as soon as he sees him, tone as if he were answering a regular phone call.

Locus releases the breath he wasn’t aware was holding. Felix is intact, has received his call. Things are proceeding, so far so good.

“Is this line secure?” Locus asks, moving to take a seat at the terminal, resting a hand on the terminal keyboard as he looks up at the screen to study his partner and his immediate surroundings.

Felix looks fine, is alone, at first glance, dressed casually, in a comfortable t-shirt a size or two too big, slightly rumpled in appearance, is likely wearing comfortable pants under the table as well. He’s seated at a desk, his data pad propped on the table so he can see Locus . It’s dark, in the room he’s in, lit up enough just to see him, casting his face in odd shadows - the source a side lamp, perhaps, or maybe just the light of his data pad itself, just enough to see. It’s quiet, besides the static of a fuzzy connection. Late at night where he is, probably.

Felix rolls his eyes, rests his elbow on the table to prop his head up, “I have not missed what a nitpicky piece of shit you are,” he mutters, snidely, and rubs at an eye, “I wouldn’t answer if it wasn’t,” he says, with a huff, “We’re good.”

Locus’ lip twitches at the bite in his words, the sarcastic statement of the obvious in rebuttal. He’s missed this: proper conversation with Felix. Exchanging recorded messages, instructions, complaints, weeks between each soundbite, just hasn’t been the same.

“How are things proceeding?” Locus asks, plainly, fiddling with the terminal to pull up note taking software, jumping straight to the point, mind still on the job, ready to gather information, take into account new information for what is to come.

Felix isn’t pleased to hear the question. “Wow,” he says with an ugly snort, “Not even a ‘how are you’?” he asks, crossing his arms on the table, “Haven’t spoken with you properly for a year and not even that? Thanks, Locus, glad to know you care.” He sounds annoyed. Genuinely so.

Locus pauses, looks back up at his partner on the screen. It’s been a while, but Felix has never before voiced annoyance over his preference to cover details of a job in conversation before anything else. He’s been mocked about it, teased before a cursory report given, yes, but never snapped at. Not since the war years ago, when they hand’t known each other and there hadn’t been much good humour to be had.

Felix looks tired, it is apparent, on second glance. Exhausted, perhaps is a better word. He’d thought it was the poor lighting casting unfortunate shadows, but on closer observation of the fuzzy screen image, the details come to light - the bags under his eyes, the listlessness to his hair, the evidence of a five-o-clock shadow on his face. “…How are you?” Locus asks, after a brief pause, quieter.

“Exhausted,” Felix blurts out, digging a palm into an eye to rub at it, “Rebels work me like a dog,” he gripes, “None of them can fight for shit so they make me do fucking everything.”

Locus nods, listens. Waits for Felix to continue.

“Mentally exhausting too,” he groans, dropping his hand back onto the table after tossing some hair out of his eyes, “Got kids crying at me every day, they can’t fight for shit, they can’t handle all this shit, and they can’t shoot for shit.” He sighs, narrows his eyes as he glares at something off to the side, “I’m carrying this goddamn army and it’s hard fucking work.”

It looks like it is, the evidence laid out in his frame, on his body. Felix looks exhausted, to start. On top of that, he looks thin - significantly thinner since the last Locus saw of him, in the recorded message he’d sent a month and two weeks ago. There’s a bruise on his collar, a new scar on his arm: marks of a new war carving themselves onto his body.

Locus’ brow furrows to see it. “But the rebels trust you,” he says, sticking to script, to what is expected, even as he catalogues all the differences in his partner since he saw him last, fusses quietly in his mind with the mild but growing cloud of worry,

“They can’t afford not to, with their situation,” Felix says, with a shrug and a sigh as he looks back at the screen, nonchalant, uncaring of the Rebels he’s aligned with, “So send Control my compliments for deciding to send me ahead, you lucky son of a bitch.”

Locus frowns, feels a mild resentment, irritation make itself known - at Felix for complaining, at Control for insisting on this, so many months ago, At himself for not arguing a different plan that wouldn’t have left Felix to fend for himself for a year on a hostile planet. “…I didn’t choose to do this,” he says, quietly, “I didn’t…” he trails off, thinks instead, _‘I didn’t want to send you alone’._

Felix waves him off, apparently not so bothered, after all, “I know,” he says, with a sigh, “Still,” he says with a quirk of a tired grin - his first so far through this entire conversation, “You could have volunteered.”

“You were better suited,” Locus replies automatically, gripping at the surface of the keyboard, “The element of trust for the rebel side–”

“I know,” Felix interrupts, “I was there when it was laid out last year,” he reminds him, waving him off again before he sighs, “Just… whatever,” he says, tiredly, “Glad I won’t be alone now on this rock and all that shit,” he mutters, shifting to rest his arms on the table, chair scraping back as he rests his head on his arms.

It’s clear to see just how tired he is.

“You should get some rest,” Locus comments. As it is, he has a bit of time before he and the other mercs planned to make planetfall. He knows Felix is okay now - still alive, still in good favour with the rebels - and has established contact with him. They can afford to wait until after Felix has had decent sleep before he informs him of their next steps.

“I planned to,” Felix points out, shrugging his shoulders awkwardly, “Then you called me.”

Locus leans back and tilts his head, “You didn’t have to answer,” he says, matter-of-fact, “I would have called again.”

Felix makes a sound of amusement, “Yeah, to tell me I’m an irresponsible child who can’t be trusted to keep in contact when I’m needed,” he shakes his head, “I’m not stupid enough to ignore your calls.”

Locus can’t help the brief bloom of amusement he feels. Felix isn’t wrong, he probably would have. “Control tells me you ignore his,” he remarks, remembering a comment made when he reported in to their client not a few hours ago,

“Yeah, well,” Felix says, dismissive, “Tell him to stop calling me when I’m working. It’s suspicious as fuck,” he straightens, sits up again, waves a hand to gesture with annoyance, “Is he _trying_ to get me killed?”

Locus’ mouth quirks in a brief smile. He decides not to answer the question. Instead, he asks, “When was the last time you slept?”

Felix shrugs, dropping his free arm back on the table by the elbow, hand under his chin, “I dunno, last proper nights sleep was… sixty hours ago?” he says, uncertainly, gaze drifting upwards to his right, “Rebels sent me on an op with some rookies, took longer than expected,” he says, recalling events in his mind, glancing back down at the screen, “Had a tough time getting back when the Feds managed to track us, then when we got back, we had to report in, debrief, visit the med tent, shit like that,” he sighs again, yanking at his shirt collar as it begins to slip towards one shoulder, “It’s been a long fucking three days.”

Sixty hours without rest. No wonder Felix looks exhausted, has been somewhat off, curt, during the conversation, “…You look terrible,” Locus observes.

“Hey fuck you,” Felix fires back, though the tone isn’t entirely angry, slightly amused, judging by the reluctant quirk of his lip, “Why don’t you fight a couple months with a rebel outfit and say that to my face?”

“It was an observation,” Locus says, simply, tapping his fingers on the terminal surface, tracing his nails between the keys, “You’ve lost weight.”

“Rationing,” Felix answers with a grimace, and Locus feels the pang of sympathy, remembering what it was like during the Great war, fighting with limited resources, all those years ago, “Man, you know, I missed a couple of things about the war, but I have not missed that.”

“…Are you alright?” Locus asks, plainly, getting to the point.

“Hm?” Felix says, absently, then “Oh, pfft, I’m fine,” he replies with a tired grin, self-assured, though subdued, “Nothing I can’t handle. This isn’t anything new. We’ve had worse,” he laughs, a small chuckle, “What, are you worried?”

“No,” Locus denies.

Felix tilts his head, grins a sharp-toothed grin that is both comfortingly familiar and annoyingly mocking, “You’re cute when you try to bullshit me,” he remarks.

Locus huffs, glancing aside. He’d denied too quickly.

Every time.

“Felix,” he grumbles.

“Oh were you not bullshitting?” Felix asks, gleeful at his embarrassment, “You’re fucking textbook when you lie, Locus, I’m just saying,” he shrugs, settling back down, “Should work on that.”

“I’m simply…” Locus considers his words, “…I am a little concerned. You look worse since the last report I received.”

He still has it, the short video file, archived for posterity after he sent the written summary to Control. Felix had been more awake, in the thirty seconds of footage, compared to as he is now; had gestured more freely, fit in more complaints, eyes wide, voice expressive, cheekbones not so pronounced. Some difference, perhaps, can be attributed to being able to decide when to record the message and having no control over when to receive a call, but the rest of it is clearly the conditions of war taking its toll.

Felix has looked slightly more worn with each video he’d sent, to report on what was happening, how he was doing, how phase 1 of the job was proceeding.

“Yeah well, war does that,” Felix says, matter-of-fact, with a grunt, head back in a hand, “I know it’s a job, but,” he shrugs, “You know, this is a warzone. You’ll get the same with the Feds.”

“The Feds are better equipped,” Locus points out, “It won’t be the same.”

Better facilities, more resources, more food - they both know the Feds have more in material means than the rebel forces.

“Yeah,” Felix mutters resentfully, “Rub it in my face why don’t you.”

Locus doesn’t say anything in response.

There’s an awkward silence, punctuated only with the sounds of shuffling when Felix settles his head back on his arms, blinking slowly as it gets harder for him to stay awake. “When are you making planetfall?” Felix asks, quietly, after a yawn.

“…Sixteen hours from now, Chorus time,” Locus answers, leaning forward to rest his arms on the terminal keyboard surface.

“Got it all worked out, then?” Felix asks, with a knowing grin, “Planned all the little variables, the timing,” he says, voice a subdued by teasing lilt, “What you’re going to do, who to approach and when–”

“I’ve had ample time to consider it,” Locus interrupts before he goes on too long with his mocking tone. He never has an appreciation for taking steps to be prepared, Felix. He’d rather look over it once and jump right in.

“Hope your side works to plan then,” Felix remarks, tilting his head to rest more comfortably on his arms.

“Has yours not?” Locus asks, concern filtering back. Felix hadn’t mentioned anything about their plans going astray with the rebels. Has something happened in the last six weeks?

Felix looks unconcerned, “Let’s just say improvisation is a big part of the rebel agenda,” he says with a shift of his shoulders.

“…Will it be a problem?” Locus asks.

“I’m handling it,” Felix replies, gaze darting left, then back. He doesn’t look bothered at all, is confident, voice steady, “Don’t worry about it.”

“Felix.”

“It’s fine,” Felix insists, “Everything’s more or less to the timetable. They’re scrappy, but I’d say the Rebels have evened the field significantly since I arrived. Feds should be frustrated enough to want some outside help now,” he laughs, a short sound of amusement as he remembers something, “They tried to buy me off two months ago, so, you should have it pretty easy to settle in.”

“That’s good,” Locus responds. He’s running out of words to say.

“Yeah well, I know what I’m doing,” Felix grins, cocksure, “So don’t worry about the Rebels. I have it.”

“Alright,” Locus acquiesces. Perhaps it’s time to wrap up the call, let Felix have his night’s sleep, “I’ll let you know when I’ve established contact with the Federal Army,” Locus says, sitting up straight to fiddle with the terminal, “Once I’ve been hired, we can coordinate for phase 2.”

“Mm,” Felix responds, a subdued sound of acknowledgement. Locus isn’t sure he’s heard everything he said, just gleaned enough to know vaguely what to expect.

“We’ll be in touch,” Locus says, then he pauses, looking up to study the image of his partner on screen - tired, already half-asleep, head on his crossed arms, settled on the table. He smiles at the sight, “It’s… good to see you, Felix.”

Felix blinks, once, as he digests the words he just heard, “Yeah. I–” he says, pauses, then manages a crooked little smile back, “Yeah,” he breathes, “Same.”

“Get some rest, Felix,” Locus orders, reaching for the button to terminate the call.

Felix makes an amused huff of sound, arm reaching out for the screen to fiddle with the program buttons on his side of the call, “Don’t need to tell me twice,” he says, sitting up with a yawn, “See you planetside, Locus.”

Locus nods, and just as Felix grabs the data pad, shaking the image on screen as he fiddles for the end call button, he bids back a quiet, “Goodnight.”

**Author's Note:**

> also on [tumblr](http://redqueenequilibrium.tumblr.com/post/117309179878/whens-the-last-time-youve-eatenslept-im)


End file.
